


Casting Stones

by asparagusmama



Series: Seasons AU - extras! [11]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of addiction problems, mentions of gambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Robbie and James's wedding (civil partnership, this is set in 2011) James' father turns up like a bad penny wanting to explain, hoping for forgiveness. Once James understands, will he forgive? Can he? Or will he agree to Joe's terms, and agree to his father being placed under arrest?</p><p>This is a scene from the last (yet unposted) chapter from White. It works as a stand alone story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casting Stones

**Author's Note:**

> For those not familier with my AU of case fics and the slow growth of their relationship I made up for my daughter in 2010, in White Robbie and James adopt Mark's baby daughter.

James came out of the changing room, holding a sleepy Molly in his arms, when he heard him, the unmistakable sound of his father’s voice. Then he heard Robbie too. He ducked back into the alcove where the doors to the toilets and baby changing rooms where and listened, pressing himself back against the wall, holding Molly tightly, praying she would not stir nor make a noise.

“I must ask you to leave Mr. Hathaway. You are really not wanted here.”

“Please, Mr Lewis, just hear me out. For James. I need to say this and if he won’t listen then...”

“Don’t make me fetch help Mr. Hathaway. This can go easy or hard for you, there are more policemen and women here than you could possibly imagine.”

“No, I get it, you both being policemen. Fine. Okay. But just take this, please.”

There was a sound of rustling. James risked a peak and saw that his Dad was holding open a paper bag, from what he could see from the top of it; it looked like notes, countless £20 notes.

“Bloody hell. I think we better talk.”

They moved around out of James sight. He guessed they had sat on the stairs. He remembered his Mum, panicked, that morning, telling him, Jon, and Martha, that his Dad had sold the old Land Rover and her car that morning.

“It’s not what you think,” he heard his Dad say. “It’s from a horse.”

“But what the bloody hell...?”

“Take it. Look, I don’t wanna seem rude or prejudiced, though God knows my Jamie thinks that of me, and maybe I am, but I should be paying for all this, right?”

“What do you mean?” James could imagine Robbie’s eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“The wedding, all this yeah? It must have set you back a fair whack and my boy is on a sergeant’s wage, right? I know he has no savings, he has a knack on blowing it on smart clothes and music and his guitar. That and the fags, the fancy coffees, and the booze, for all he’s always nasty about me, doing the same, the booze and the horses.”

Not anymore, thought Robbie, now it’s pretty dresses, pre-school books, and educational toys. “I don’t know if I should take it.”

“It’s my right, like. Father of the bride.”

“James isn’t my bride. He’s not a woman,” Robbie felt his hackles rise.

“I know that, he’s my son, but I know my son, and I know what’s what. You were married before, properly.”

“How did you get this money?” Robbie demanded, all too aware at how much like a policeman he sounded.

“A horse. He was running today at Kempton, 1240. Cambridge Boy. I gave up the gambling, but this was a sign. Besides, I’ve been working at the stables, casual labour like. I know this horse. I knew he would win. I sold my car, the wife’s car, pawned the TV and my wedding ring and put the lot on him. 10:1. That’s best part of twenty grand in there. I got back the cars and stuff first. My Rose was crazy at me. But I owe my boy.”

“Bloody hell!” Robbie whistled, but then sobered. “I can’t accept this Mr. Hathaway.”

“Joe.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“You must. If you won’t let me pay for the wedding, take it for your girl. Rose showed me the pictures. She’s lovely. My granddaughter. I never expected to...”

“Mr Hathaway. Joe. James will never forgive me if I accept this money.”

“Please. I wanted to talk. Show him how sorry I am. Explain. I want to explain. Take it. Tell him it’s what he earned for me when he was a boy. With interest. And compensation for my shitty behaviour.”

“Mr Hathaway, are you sure you want to be telling me this? I’m a police officer man, a detective inspector in CID. Are you confessing to anything?”

“Look. How about I explain it all to you? You can arrest me and I’ll say it again at the nick, all proper like, under caution. Or you can just pass it all on to James, let him chose, forgive me or arrest me or hate and ignore me like he already does. But try to let him let Rose back into his life, let her get to know the little one. Yeah? Is that okay? You chose.”

“Tell me what?”

“All of it. I’m guessing, since you and James are together he must have told you, he has to have done.”

“Told me what?”

“You know about Mortmaigne and Crevecoeur Hall? It was in the news, his arrest.”

“I was the arresting officer,” Lewis conceded. “You knew what he was doing to your son? To others?” 

“Not at first. Look, James might not know it, but I love him more than anything. My little boy. My Sweet Pea. When he was chosen for special treatment, it seems so good. He was always so bright and musical. He seemed to be reading for years before he went to school, so serious and quiet.”

“Why Sweet Pea?” Robbie felt himself ask, despite himself. He was getting off track. But then, this was not a formal police interview. This was his father-in-law, and they were sitting on cold steps outside his wedding reception.

Joe smiled sadly. “I came home one lunch and found Rose in such a state. James was only three and she couldn’t find him. She’d been calling and calling, and was in tears, right old mess. I found him beyond the bottom of our garden, out past the orchard into my vegetable patch. He was sitting in the bean canes, face and hands smeared red with raspberry juice and very carefully, in his tiny little fingers, podding peas and stuffing them in his mouth. He’d picked some sweet peas and stuffed them in his hair. He looked like a naughty fairy with his yellow hair and...” Joe caught Robbie’s exasperated sigh. “Not like that. A proper fairy, at the bottom of my garden. He was just a little boy. I picked him up and he looked at me and smiled and said ‘Daddy’ and I couldn’t tell him off for running away or eating half my crop. From then on his was my little sweet pea.”

Robbie sighed again, this time sadly, “Tell me about Mortmaigne.”

“I didn’t know. I was so proud. I know I like a drink and I can get miserable or angry or both and sometimes I want a son who wants to watch the football or come out shooting with me, not just sit reading and thinking. Once I caught him in his mum’s wardrobe, you know, trying on her high heels and make-up. I lost it then. I was pissed but that’s no excuse for hitting a six year old. I didn’t know then. About Mortmaigne. When he was eight I had some business to do and I was coming over the Chase when I saw them in the Summerhouse. Weren’t no piano lesson, I can tell you. I stormed in. he was so calm, didn’t act guilty, like he had had his hands in my boy’s pants. He told me I’d seen nothing. That he would sack me and Rose, we would lose the cottage. He made sure James understood if his Daddy didn’t stop shouting at him we would all have no money and no home. That boy of mine read far too many kids books set in Victorian times not to imagine a far worse fate than we would have got and started pleading with me that his Lordship hadn’t hurt him and he was fine. Later I got called to meeting with him up at the House, and I was given a choice, look the other way, or lose jobs and home and have no references. He then added that he would call the police and you could bet something he reported stolen would be found in my place. He only had promoted me three years before, made me Estate Manager from Gamekeeper, and given Rose a job in the kitchens. He’d paid for her cookery course first too. We was putting money away for James’ future. You have to remember, this was the eighties, 3 million or more unemployed, me and Rose having five ‘O’ levels and one cookery exam between us, and only two of those ‘O’s were mine, house prices were going though the roof, Thatcher had sold all the council houses, rent was expensive. Where was we to go, where could we live?”

“Yeah, I can see how hard it must have been, a home and money or your child’s safety,” Robbie said bitterly.

“This was his safety! How safe would he have been homeless with two unemployed parents with no hope of another job? Do you think Mortmaigne would have given us a reference if I’d gone to the police? Would they have believed me if he had accused me of theft first? It would have been seen as spite. In fact, did the police ever believe kids were being abused in them days?”

“Okay, I see you were in an impossible situation,” Robbie said sarcastically, but he suddenly heard Morse’s voice in his head, explaining about another father when he asked why didn’t he go to the police, ‘They owned him Lewis’. Morse had been talking of a college Master, and here they were talking of a Marquis.

“He offered to help get James into a decent school when he got to eleven, telling me he would teach him more than piano. He also told me his loved my son and wouldn’t harm a hair on his head. He believed it, too, I reckon. Didn’t know it was wrong.”

If that was the case, thought Lewis, why did he not harm his own children? But he did not say so. Instead he asked, “But you left when James was twelve?”

“After Year Seven, James was offered a full scholarship with bursaries and grants for all he would need right up to ‘A’ levels. Before it was a music scholarship and Mortmaigne paid the rest. The economy was on the up, Rose had done more courses and I was prepared to do anything. Not that I was much use to anyone, I was drinking so much by then. I could – can! – never get that sight of His Lordship and my James out of my head, no matter how wasted I get!

“Drunk one night, just before James was coming home for the summer, I told Rose what I had seen and worried for him. I didn’t think it would be just touching him up anymore. I was scared. I went to the police...”

Robbie made a note to chase it up at records in Kidlington. It would have been one of the smaller town police stations, the type that had been rationalised out of existence.

“... but they didn’t believe me. I had no proof. My boy was still at school. They sort of implied I had to come back with James after it had happened, so they had evidence. I knew James wouldn’t want that, couldn’t cope with that. But I confronted his Lordship anyway, and he sacked us. Me for being drunk and unreliable. He had my Rose searched and they found her Ladyship’s diamonds in her purse.”

“Planted?”

“’Course, planted! Bastard! My Rose studied hard for all that proper French cordon bleu cheffing, and what she end up doing, cleaning and school dinner lady shit. We lost everything. Council wouldn’t help us as we had quote, ‘contributed to our homelessness’. Couldn’t afford storage. Most of our family hated us for my drinking or Rose becoming a Catholic and that. My brother took me in but he had no room. We had to give away or sell everything. Broke my Rose’s heart, getting rid of all her fancy China. My boy too, all his toys and books.”

Robbie thought of the small shoebox, the one that, under the bundle of letters from Morse, who had written to him after they had failed to make anything stick on Joseph Hathaway, contained a small collection of battered gaming figures and a hand-crafted wooden spinning top. He had assumed they were kept for sentimental reasons. Perhaps they were all that he had been allowed to keep? But thinking on how Morse had meant to the young teenage James to start up a correspondence that had lasted to Morse’s death, Robbie demanded,

“What about the rest? That’s Mortmaigne explained, and I can see how difficult things were for you, the country can be almost feudal, even now, I’ve seen that enough in murder investigations. I can’t forgive you, that’s not my place, it’s James’.”

Behind the wall of the stairwell, in the alcove, James clamped a hand over his mouth, shifting Molly gently over on shoulder. Could he ever forgive?

“Well, this is harder. Do I tell you? Will you arrest me?”

“You already gave me the choice Joe,” Robbie said, but gently.

“True. I was a complete alcoholic by then. I could never get decent work. After the summer we left Crevecoeur, when James went back to school, I tried and tried to find work. Eventually I found some labouring for a farmer outside Faringdon, near Longcot. He gave me a cottage at a reduced rate, but it was falling to bits, damp, mould, roof missing in bits, outdoor plumbing. Needed a lot of work and money. Neither of us had any references. Benefits was the same as the housing – we had ‘contributed to our unemployment’ and like the dick I am, I pissed what I earned away in booze. And the horses and dogs, always convinced next time would be the big win. Rose started cleaning for the posh houses, and that brought me some more work, gardening and that. But I got into some shit with loan sharks and worse. I’d started poker too, back end gambling dens, always pissed. 

“Look Mr. Lewis, I ain’t proud of myself. I hate the way I was, how I got there. But I owed thousands and then this man, the one who had his heavies rough me up twice already, said he had been talking to the man who turned out to be the husband of one of Rose’s ladies she did for. Rose had been showing off pictures of our James, and had poured her heart out about how she lost her job and home, how it was down to what that fucking Aristo bastard had done to our boy. He said he knew another man, a man who would pay. What harm, he said, your boy has done it before, had it all done to him before, and he’s older, thirteen now. Boys are interested by thirteen, aren’t they?

“I said no. I got beaten up badly enough to miss work and fell behind with the rent and be threatened with the sack again. Then they started threatening my Rose, telling me they were watching her. They weren’t just threatening to beat her up neither! They wanted the money now, and they didn’t care how much they hurt both of us, or they would wait, ’til James came home from school, and then all debts would be paid in full.

“You might tell me I was stupid, but I seriously thought it would just be that one man, for one Christmas holiday. I had no idea, I swear. Once you let them get to you though, well, they can blackmail you too, right? Did I want to go to prison, my son taken into care? No, of course not, and he was at school mostly, weren’t he? It was like, twelve, fourteen weeks, out of a year...”

Robbie remembered James saying the same thing only months before: “It was, all told, thirteen or fourteen weeks over a year for three years. Damaging, yes, but I had school, stability, normality, where I could throw myself into everything, where I made a success of myself. I’m convinced that’s why I’m not a complete basket case, you know? I’m not a basket case, am I Robbie?” And Robbie had assured him he wasn’t, but he had approached university, the Seminary and the police in the same way, throwing himself so much into his career and studies, he had no space or time, or ability, for personal and intimate relationships. He had coped by being a loner and celibate. No wonder the priesthood had appealed so much. It had been such on long journey he had James had taken over the past year, the assaults the previous May bringing everything to a head and complicating matters but also forcing James to confront the issues of his childhood and think about them rather than lock them up in his mind and pretend he was fine. This was why for Robbie, although he could feel for Joe, see the problems he was facing, although they were of his own making, it was so hard to forgive. He could hear the pain, the justifications Joe had made over the years, and the fact he had never believed himself, in his voice.

In fact, Joe had broken off to sob quietly. He had put his head in his hands and curled up on the stair, broken down completely, reminding Robbie painfully, by his body language, of James. Would he arrest him? The decision was his; that was the deal. He could arrest him now for child abuse, assault, and living of immoral earning, and he could be formally charged, in which case Joe would confess it all again, formally under caution.

Could he do that to James’ father? He didn’t think James wanted that. Was it his place to forgive? He didn’t think it was. Only James could do that. He did feel, suddenly, that he was judging Joe rather harshly for his alcoholism, considering his close working relationship, close – well as close as Morse would permit anyone - friendship, he had had with Morse over the years. What would Morse advise him on this matter? Or Val?

Around the corner, listening, tears silently rolled down James’ cheeks. He had known it had started because they were in debt. But he had no idea how much and how deep in financial shit his father had got himself. Nor had he realised his mother had been threatened. If it came to a choice between him and his Mum, well, he was glad his Dad had chosen him. He would have chosen the same. 

He didn’t know what to do, nor did he know what he would have done, whether he would ever have revealed to Robbie, let alone his father, that he had heard every word, but just then Molly chose to wake up properly and the decision was no longer his to make. She hadn’t been quite asleep, but she had been fiddling with the pearls on his waistcoat of his wedding suit, quite quiet and still, a rarity for her, sucking the end of her own white bridesmaid dress, or grooms maid dress, really.

“Face wet Daddy,” she said confused. “Why?” Why was one of her favourite words.

“S’sh Molly.”

“Why why why? Wet face Daddy!”

Of course, Molly was only 15 months so only James seemed to hear all her words clearly. But everyone heard ‘why’, especially when she grew loud. As she did now.

“James? Is that you round there?” Robbie called, standing, patting Joe’s hunched back as he did so.

James emerged, a faint pink blush across his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, honestly. I was changing Molly when...” James tailed away as his father looked up at him sadly, tears still in his eyes.

“Hello Dad.”

“James?” Joe scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed. James couldn’t remember ever seeing his Dad cry.

“Dad! Dad Dad Dad! Daddy face wet!”

Awkwardly, Joe stumbled to his feet, holding out his arms. “Hey, little girly. I’m your Daddy’s Dad.”

Molly was always shy and awkward around anyone she did not know very well and she clung tightly to her Daddy. What James didn’t realise was he held back just as tightly, burying his face in her hair.

“She’s shy Joe,” Robbie said diplomatically. “Come to your Dad pet.” He took Molly from James. She grinned and pulled his nose,

“Dad!”

Once Robbie held her securely he turned so she could face Joe. “This is Daddy’s Dad Molly. Say hello to your Grandpa.” It was the best way he could think of showing that things, however broken, might be partly mended, that he, certainly, wasn’t going to arrest his father-in-law. Hadn’t he already had to arrest his own son? Did that not haunt him enough? Hadn’t his own failings as a father led Mark to the path he chose? He certainly blamed himself. All parents made mistakes, horrendous mistakes. Although not as awful and damaging as Joe, granted. But James’ God taught that ‘let he who without sin cast the first stone’, and although Robbie had lost his faith with Val, he did try to follow those teachings of acceptance and non-judgement. It was partly what got him through all the years of policing. Do his job and leave justice to the experts.

Meanwhile, after glancing at Joe unblinkingly while Robbie spoke, Molly buried her face in her Dad’s shoulder. Joe smiled at this, not seeming at all put out, saying gently to Molly,

“It’s okay. Your... Daddy? –” Joe looked at Robbie who nodded, “- was very, very shy too when he was a little boy.” He sighed and reached to stroke her hair, his hand hovering a moment without touching her before he let it drop and instead he turned to James, who like he had done, was embarrassingly wiping his tears was, but with his fingertips. Joe sighed again, a shuddering sigh, and asked sadly, “How much did you hear James?”

“All of it.”

Joe tried and failed to look his son in the eye before he asked desperately, “Well? What is it to be? Who’s gonna arrest me?”

James hung his head and turned away. Joe turned his desperate, hopeful gaze to Robbie.

Robbie looked at James, who, still looking down at his shoes, mumbled, “You chose, Robbie. That was the deal.”

“But it has to be your choice James. I can’t forgive, and I can’t even pretend to understand it all, but I don’t want to arrest him. I’m barely a police officer anymore. I retire in June. This is my retirement do too, remember. It’s your choice.”

Joe held his breath as James let out a shuddering sigh before looking up, but at Robbie, not him, and said, “I never wanted Dad in prison.”

“What about...?” 

Robbie was referring to a time when James was fifteen and had told Morse enough for them to arrest and question Joe and James knew it.

“I was scared. I was glad, really, when you couldn’t prosecute, even if it did make Dad mad at me and...”

“That was the drink,” Joe interrupted, full of remorse for all the pain he caused and was causing, “It turned me into a shit. I can never say sorry enough, I can’t... And I was glad you went to the police, too. Those sick bastards couldn’t put any more pressure on me, as soon as I told them you’d gone to the police and had me arrested, they backed off. I guess they found more victims, some other stupid bastard’s son to hurt... I’m so sorry, James, so sorry, I can’t ever...”

“Dad!” James snapped without thinking, “Quiet! Please! I can’t think!”

“Sure. Anything.” Joe sat back down on the stairs heavily with a groan.

James, who had screwed his eyes up tight and flinched without realising as soon as he had snapped at his father opened his eyes to look at his Dad; an old man with sad eyes, not a scary drunk towering over him with fist clenched nor anything else he used to see in his dreams. He remembered his Dad teaching him to ride a bike, round the paddock, his Dad letting him go without his realising it, until he realised he was actually balancing and fell off. His Dad had rushed over to help him up. Suddenly he was crowded with happier memories as if a door had opened in his mind, as if he had given permission for it to open, that it wasn’t too painful and confusing, too contradictory and hypocritical, to remember the happy, half sober, laughing father who had made him feel loved and cherished. It had hurt too much, easier to convince himself it was all beatings and shouting and the worst of all, the drives to those men...

“Robbie?” James said, uncertain, holding out his hand.

Robbie took James’ hand and squeezed it reassuringly, “James love?”

“I think I need to talk to my Dad. Alone.”

“Sure?”

James nodded firmly.

“I’ll be here for you.”

“You always are. I’ll be fine. “ James smiled at Robbie, the smile even reached his eyes. “Promise. I’ll be fine. I just have some more things I need to ask,” he turned to his father, “to understand. I can’t promise to forgive. But I can try to understand. Because...”

Both Robbie and Joe looked at him as he paused but neither man interrupted.

“... because I too have addictive issues. Drink. Caffeine. Nicotine. Although I did manage to quit most, for Molly...”

Joe looked as if he was about to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. James sat carefully next to him.

“You’ll ruin your beautiful suit,” Joe said carefully, as if he wanted to have some time to think before they talked more about the important things.

James shrugged. “It was just for today. Like you said. White wedding. Bride.” The suit was not white, but ivory, but it certainly would show up all the dirt and mud trampled into the stairs carpet. “Molly’s already been sick on the jacket.”

“Martha design that for you?”

James grinned shyly at his Dad. “Yes, how did you guess? She normally designs for women.”

“You were close. She was your witness, Rose said. You look amazing, and that’s not in the whole suit. Tails?”

“Same cut as Robbie’s, almost,” James replied.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Robbie said, as Molly was grizzling and wriggling in his arms.

“Tell Mum...” James began, not knowing what he was going to say. Robbie seemed to understand anyway, and nodded, his deep blue eyes meeting James’ for a moment, giving James all the strength and encouragement he needed, as he they for years.

**Author's Note:**

> White's last chapter grows larger and larger by the month. Serious editing will be undertaken when it is finally posted, which it can't until all the other case fics are complete, least a guest might give away the fact that a suspect is no such thing and about to become a friend!
> 
> The references to Morse refer to An Arrest.
> 
> Again, sorry for the long wait for the completion of Poisoned Minds and White. My daughter's needs come first, and although they are written for her, being in a condition to post is another matter :)


End file.
